Page 46 of Within These County Lines

“Thanks for trying to fix things,” he says softly. His teeth clatter behind his lips. Without thinking, I slide closer until our waists touch, and we share warmth.

I could suggest other ways to solve this mystery. But right now, I just want to stare at his burning gold eyes and listen to the rain patter against the leaves.

If I had to be a ghost with anyone . . . I’m glad it’s Xander Pomers.

22

The constant dread running through my body makes time fly. It’s like everything in Penango has been rewired now that ghosts, the supernatural, spirits—or whatever Xander is—exist. Main Street holds a new thrill now I know some of its pedestrians might not even be alive. The trees no longer blur together like an old, shaggy carpet draped over town. Instead, they shimmer, alive with some unseen magic, their leaves glowing like green Christmas lights.

The first time I saw Xander, I thought I was hallucinating. I couldn’t explain it. I blamed the Ardor Tree’s weird energy and Murray’s inability to see me on a brain fried by heartbreak. But on the second and third times Xander appeared? Those were proof. And yesterday, when he made the wet forest floor feel like home, he confirmed that he’s real.

And I really need my best friend to help me make sense of this. Keeping a secret from someone you share everything with is a bit like trying split a dessert at the Bean—impossible.

“Hello?” Whitley’s voice brings me out of my thoughts at the health department. She waves a hand in front of my face, then snaps her fingers.

“Earth to Stetson. What are you staring at?”

I blink rapidly, shifting in my chair.

“Hey, Whitley,” I say. “Sorry. I was just thinking about something I need to tell you.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa. Do you have a little morning gossip?” She grins. “Is it good or bad?”

I lean forward. “That’s the thing. I’m not entirely sure yet. I think I made a mistake.” She tilts her head.

“This sounds serious.” She holds up a finger. “But can I tell you my news first? It’s good.”

My stomach flips. “Oh, you have news too?”

“Yes!” she practically shouts. “I got a second job.”

A wave of heat washes over me. My hands squeeze into fists so tight my knuckles crack, and I never do that, because that’s what Murray does.

“You . . . what?” My voice wavers. “How? Where?”

“I’m going to be a research assistant for this graduate student’s thesis project.”

I blink. “How are you going to do that with our pool job?”

“The hours are, like, whenever I want. And it’s kind of related to pools. She needs my help with . . . Hold on, I wrote it down.” Whitley grabs her phone and scrolls. “Here we go—a transitional adulthood study looking at the crossover in paths for the two role configurations of adolescence and adulthood.”

I squint. “That doesn’t even make sense. What do you actually do?”

“Get the names and contact information of the lifeguards at each pool so she can interview them about their lives.”

“That’s it? A bunch of Penango lifeguards? That’s the most boring study I’ve ever heard of.”

She waves me off. “I don’t actually care about the study. This is about revenge.”

I raise a brow.

“I want to show my dad that he’s not the only supposed smart one in the family,” she says. “He didn’t have to ditch his daughter to go do stupid research in Pittsburgh like he says as an excuse. I’m doing it right here in Penango. Plus, she’s paying me in cash.”

I swallow hard, my mouth nearly watering. “Can I join?”

“I think she only needed one assistant, but I can ask.”

I puff out my lips. Of course. Whitley’s getting extra cash when she doesn’t even need it. She has her dad’s help. Meanwhile, I’m the one drowning. At this point, the universe isn’t just against me, it’s actively trying to flatten me. They should replace the icon on those Falling Rock warning signs along the Penango Freeway with my face. It’d be more accurate given the speed of my decline.